Rockstar
by Lune-Solei
Summary: I'm gonna be a rockstar,' he told him confidently. Ulrich nodded. 'I know.' A bit of alcohol mixed with Odd and what does that lead to?


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Code Lyoko. Sorry. I can't claim them as mine. Rockstar is property of Nickelback as well.

**Pairings:** Ulrich and Odd friendship. Otherwise ambiguous.

**Warnings:** Drunkenness. References to drugs. Usual stuff.

**Author's Note:** So this randomly occurred to me while listening to Nickelback's song "Rockstar" and I decided, why not write it down? Yes, I'm still working on my Savage Garden ones, but this one was insistent. I hate those. But I like this one. Oh so confusing. Please enjoy!

**Dedication:** To Ems. To Rae. Thanks.

* * *

**I'm through with standing in line  
To clubs we'll never get in  
It's like the bottom of the ninth  
And I'm never gonna win  
This life hasn't turned out  
Quite the way I want it to be**

**  
**Odd shifted from foot to foot, blowing on his hands as the winter wind whipped down the street with surprising speed and coldness. Then again, it _was_ January. He was standing in front of one of the newest and most exclusive clubs of the year, waiting in a line that probably stretched for miles, to get in. In to warmth, in to celebrities, in to...his thoughts trailed off as more wind came hurling around the bend, screaming and cold.

He looked over at his best friend and smiled a little, trying to keep his teeth from chattering to loudly. Ulrich looked back at him, shaking his head slightly, and pulled off his gloves, offering them to him. Odd shook his head, firmly establishing the fact that he would willingly freeze to death to save Ulrich from hypothermia or frost bite. He really was quite a caring soul.

"Just a bit longer," he chattered. "It'll be worth it."

They were both twenty-two years old, university-enrolled seniors who had time off for winter vacation. It was New Years Eve, and Odd had convinced his (usually) more rational friend that partying the night away would be fun. Not that Ulrich wasn't a party-er. He was, in his own right.

"Never thought I'd end up here," he commented idly.

"Hm?" Ulrich asked, eyeing him warily as they advanced in the line a step or two, huddling against the stone building to protect themselves from the unforgiving wind.

**  
(Tell me what you want)**

"Well..." Odd drawled, "I expected to be famous by now," he admitted. "Don't laugh, I'm serious. With these looks and talent? I should be plastered all over the world!" he exclaimed as Ulrich shook his head, laughing quietly.

"Only you would want that," he said, a smile lingering a moment more.

"And more," Odd protested. He looked at his best friend as they inched in more. "I want something to call my own. Beside a rented apartment that I share with two other guys," he ignored the indignant snort from one such guy, "and student loans that I'll spend my whole life paying off. I don't even know why I chose to continue with schooling."

"You continued because despite everything you believe you _are_ smart and you _do_ want to learn something in your life," Ulrich replied. "As for what you want, is there anything else or should I be taking notes?"

"Notes, definitely."

**  
I want a brand new house  
On an episode of Cribs  
And a bathroom I can play baseball in  
And a king size tub big enough  
For ten plus me**

Ulrich rolled his eyes, shaking his head though whether it was to rid his hair from the snow flurries that gathered there or out of disbelief, Odd couldn't tell. "Ah, I see. Go on," he commented dryly.

"Well..." Odd began, debating. "I want a house. A real one, with a yard, that I can call my own. It doesn't have to be big but it has to be mine, all mine. No roommates, just me. This way I can do whatever I want in it. I could make it as messy as I wanted, catch popcorn in my mouth, walk around naked. Anything."

"That's a lovely image," Ulrich muttered, rolling his eyes. "House, got it. Sorry, can't get you that for your birthday."

"Yeah, yeah," Odd yawned, shoving Ulrich lightly. "Anyway, this house, well, maybe it _does_ have to be kinda big."

"Why's that?"

They were nearing the entrance now, Ulrich could see the bouncers standing with arms crossed next to a velvet admittance rope. Odd grinned when he looked up, seeing the two burly men. "Dude, I know that one!"

"He bounce you before?"

"No," Odd replied indignantly. "Er, right, back to your question. I want a _huge_ bathroom. With a giant spa tub, or maybe one of those old-fashioned claw-foot ones."

"How big is huge?"

"Huge. It has to fit a bunch of people."

"Do I want to know why?"

"So we can play baseball, duh!" Odd crowed, laughing.

"You don't even like baseball," Ulrich commented, flashing his i.d. at the bouncer. The man nodded, lifting the rope and allowing them both entrance.

**  
(So what you need?)**

"That's not the point," Odd exclaimed as they entered the dark, strobe-lit room of the club, music blasting out from the speakers surrounding the party-goers.

"Then what is the point? You don't need all that," Ulrich replied. He relaxed a bit as the music raced through his bloodstream, allowing the tense muscles to relax.

"No," Odd replied slowly. "But I want it."

"Want isn't need. Think about what you need and build off of that," Ulrich explained evenly, ignoring the tongue Odd stuck out at him. It was deliciously warm in the club compared to the outside storm and he removed his gloves and jacket, draping the fabric over his arm.

"What I need?" Odd asked. "I need personal space. I need to be able to come and go as I please without having to answer to either you or Jer. I love you guys, really, but you both are just so...mother hen-ish."

"Thanks..."

**  
I'll need a credit card that's got no limit  
And a big black jet with a bedroom in it  
Gonna join the mile high club  
At thirty-seven thousand feet**

"Serious though?" Odd asked, a frown marring his usually carefree face. "I need money. It's just that simple. Money makes the world go round, makes life simpler, easier."

"Money isn't everything."

"Of _course_ you'd say that," Odd sniffed. "Unlike some guys, I don't come from a rich family."

"I don't either."

"Better off than me," Odd chirped, eyeing Ulrich's outfit. It wasn't rich but it was definitely nicely tailored made with fine materials that he'd have to save up for. Nope, of course his best friend wasn't well off. "Why don't you have your own house now that I think about it?" Odd asked.

"Odd..." Ulrich began but the blonde waved an impatient hand.

"No excuses, just answer."

"I wasn't going to give an excuse. I don't like having money. I want to earn my stuff, not have it given to me," Ulrich replied evenly.

"I always knew you were weird. Doesn't matter though. I want to be able to walk into a room Ulrich and have people stare at me. And not cause I'm a freak."

"You aren't a freak. You're just...unique," Ulrich replied after a moment. "Everyone notices you and just cause you have money doesn't mean people will look at you, you know that."

"I am Ulrich, lets face it. It isn't a big secret," Odd muttered with a shrug. He sank into a chair, flagging a waitress down and resting his arm on the slightly sticky tabletop, fingers bouncing erratically. "I want to be able to demand respect, admiration, hell, even jealousy on occasion."

**  
(Been there, done that)**

"You really don't know what you're asking for," Ulrich commented dryly.

He had grown up well off, like Odd had said. He hadn't told anyone for a long time, preferring the animosity of an assumed middle-class to lower middle-class position than one of higher power. Though really, when he looked back on it now, he couldn't see how he had really hoped to fool anyone. He hadn't fooled Odd, then again, he was his best friend _and_ roommate.

His other friends had found out later, when they had finally met his parents. Or maybe it was when he had arranged a spring vacation to Euro Disney for them all. Yes, wealth wasn't fun to have but it did come in quite useful at times. Maybe Odd _was_ right about it all.

"I'd love to find out though," Odd replied, flashing a grin at first his friend, then the waitress as she set their drinks on the table. Ulrich's hand reached out automatically, paying and tipping the young woman who grinned and slipped away, careful to watch them, make sure they didn't need refills. Odd's eyes reached Ulrich's once more and a small, sad smile tugged at his mouth. "Must be nice," he commented.

"Odd..."

**I want a new tour bus full of old guitars  
My own star on Hollywood Boulevard  
Somewhere between Cher and  
James Dean is fine for me**

"Doesn't matter Ulrich," Odd replied, bouncing into his usual self with the first sip of the ale in front of him. "All that matters is getting famous."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I want to be a famous musician," he chirped.

"I thought you gave that dream up." Odd frowned and Ulrich smiled. "Then again, I guess the countless number of salvaged and collectible guitars currently decorating the front room of the apartment says otherwise?"

"Of course," his voice was flippant and he took another swill, deciding he was going to order the driest martini they had next. "When I'm famous I'll have...I'll have a whole _room_ dedicated to them!"

"Really? And I suppose they'll all stay in that room, forever?"

"Hell no," Odd muttered, signaling the waitress once more and ordering his martini. "They'll be my good luck charms and travel with me. Everywhere."

"They'd need their own bus," Ulrich teased.

"So, they'd get it."

"You really have lost your mind. What time are the others joining us?"

"Afraid to be alone with me?" Odd joked. "Won't matter. I'll be world famous and I'll have my own Hollywood star, my name printed boldly across it."

"Uh-huh. Have you ever been to Hollywood?"

"Er, duh. 'Course I have. I want my star right near Cher cause she's awesome. Still a number one hitter after all these years and dude, her costumes..."

"I think the purple infiltrated your brain in previous years."

"...and James Dean!"

"Who the hell is he?"

"You have to be kidding me," Odd exclaimed, flashing another quick smile at the waitress. "Come on man, he was the epitome of teen angst in America about fifty years ago or so. Maybe a bit more."

"And I'm supposed to know him."

"Er, yeah!"

**  
(So how you gonna do it?)**

"Whatever," Ulrich muttered. He glanced up as a couple of girls approached, giggling and smiling, obviously drunk, maybe high. This was why he didn't like clubs. "Just one little question." He rolled his eyes as he saw his friend staring at the girls quite openly, grinning madly at them. "Odd!" he shouted, jarring the young man out of his fantasies.

"What?" Odd asked, jerking around to face him.

"Just one question?"

"Yeah, yeah. You want to know how you could be suck a loser as to not know who James Dean is, right? It's okay, I forgive you for being ignorant."

Ulrich flicked a wadded piece of napkin at him, rolling his eyes once more. "No, unlike you, I don't spend my time glued to the tv screen."

"Hey!" Odd exclaimed, throwing the napkin ball back. "You aren't nice!"

He smiled. "No, I'm not." He swatted the ball off the table before turning his attention back to the blonde. "So, how are you gonna do this?"

"What?"

"Become a famous rock star."

**I'm gonna trade this life for fortune and fame  
****I'd even cut my hair and change my name**

"I'd do anything."

"Better not say that to loudly." He took a sip of his own drink, savoring the warmth gained from it. He was still cold on the inside despite the warmth gained from the club atmosphere.

"In a heartbeat," Odd continued, oblivious.

"Really? Even if it went against your morals?"

"What morals?" He smirked as Ulrich shook his head, eyes wandering around the club. There was a girl a bit off, leaning against the wall and looking quite enticing...

"I should have remembered. Of course, you don't have any, do you?"

Odd stuck his tongue out with a roll of his blue eyes, more green than blue though that could have been the lighting. He had known Ulrich would tease him, would make fun of him, but he couldn't stop. His mouth kept going and he looked at the martini accusingly. It was the alcohol's fault, that was always a safe thing to blame, wasn't it? In truth though, he was devoted to being a rock star no matter what the cost.

"I mean it Ulrich," he said, leaning forward. "I'd do anything. I'd change my hair color, style, length, whatever. Even my name."

"Why would you have to change your name?"

"Hello! How weird is the name 'Odd'? Muy weirdo."

"You have horrible Spanish skills."

"Shut-up!"

**'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars  
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars  
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap  
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat**

They were silent for a moment, each looking into their own thoughts. Ulrich ran a finger idly along the rim of his glass as Odd downed his in one gulp and ordered another. He was going to be plastered by the time the others arrived but it made him feel warm so maybe it was all good in the end. He leaned back in the vinyl seat, arms crossed behind his head and blonde hair falling into his eyes, the tips a neon purple that really was hard to ignore but all so important for his image.

"What's wrong Ulrich?" he asked quietly. "You used to want the same thing at one time. Fame and fortune and a dozen or so cars. The really fast ones you know that go over a hundred and fifty miles an hour. Hair-pin turns and the like. You used to long for adventure once."

He shrugged, sitting up and drawing designs in the condensation left on the slick table. "I don't know Odd. Maybe I grew up?" He winced, looking up to see Odd looking shocked, maybe surprised, hurt almost definitely. "Odd..."

"No, you think I'm a child for dreaming this?"

"That isn't what I meant and you know it." He met the blue eyes, giving a faint smile. "I mean, maybe I just lost...something, along the way. Something you've managed to maintain. Somehow." He shrugged, not finding the words, and slipped effortlessly into his brooding silence, Odd watching from across the table.

"Forget it Ulrich." He raised his glass in a half-salute and smiled drunkenly before looking out at the dancing bodies, at the girls as they moved to the music and a small smile tugged at his own lips. "Being famous, being rich, that would make a difference. Especially to the girls. They'd love it, love me. Hang all over me...unlike."

"Odd...it was over a year ago."

He shook his head, smiling sheepishly. "Your right. Anyway, the drugs come pretty cheap, pretty easy too."

"Only 'cause you have the money to buy them...Why would you be buying drugs anyway?" Ulrich demanded.

"That way I wouldn't have to stop eating. The drugs would keep me thin."

"Odd, you're thin enough already."

**And we'll hang out in the coolest bars  
In the VIP with the movie stars  
Every good gold digger's  
Gonna wind up there  
Every Playboy bunny  
****With her bleach blond hair**

"Yeah, yeah," Odd muttered with a wave of his hand. "Just imagine it? Even if you aren't famous, hanging with me would _make_ you famous. We could get drunk every night, in the best and brightest bars. Where _everyone_ goes, all the famous people."

"Unlike some, I don't particularly enjoy getting drunk each and every night. Or ever for that matter. In fact, I'm surprised you do, with all the hangovers you suffer."

"It builds character."

"It kills your liver."

"Yeah, yeah. You are such a future doctor it isn't even funny," Odd muttered darkly and just to prove his disregard of the warning downed his fourth, fifth, seventh?, martini and grinned.

"Just remember that in the years to come when your liver is mutinying against you. Remember what I said to you."

"Uh-huh." He grinned. "Have you ever noticed that all the really pretty girls are gold diggers?"

"You don't believe that."

"Sure I do."

"What about.."

"It was over a year ago Ulrich, remember?" He fell silent, nursing his drink, not really caring what it was anymore and Ulrich looked away, trying vainly to think of something to say. Odd had changed over the past twenty-one months and not altogether for the better.

"You wouldn't really date a gold digger."

"Nah," Odd replied with a forced smile. "One of those Playboy er...rabbits? The ones from America."

"Bunnies?"

"Yeah, bunnies. How do you know...never mind. One of those. I'd date a Playboy Bunny. One with blonde hair."

"Natural?"

"Who cares?"

"Great."

**  
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar  
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar**

"You really want to do this?" Ulrich asked slowly. He looked at the man across from him, still childish in so many ways but much more darker, more brooding on the inside. Torment flashed from the blue eyes and he nodded, knocking back his twelfth drink. Whiskey this time. Somehow he doubted the blonde even noticed anymore.

"Yeah Ulrich, I really want to do this," he mumbled. He looked up at Ulrich, all the pain from the past twenty-one months bleeding through, staring him straight in the eye. All the brunette could do was look away, out at the crowd of dancing bodies, leaving his friend to his own demons.

Some friend.

"Taken you awhile to realize it, hasn't it?" he asked. He wondered at his tone, was it condescending? Surely not. He had supported Odd on some of his more...wilder...schemes. This shouldn't surprise him at all, maybe it was the talk of drugs and thinness. And the fact that he hadn't noticed just _how_ thin his friend had gotten.

Again, some friend.

"Yeah well, not everyone has their life planned out. I was planning on becoming a director or actor or something."

"Something dramatic?"

"Yeah...but I think I'd make a good rock singer."

"As long as you don't sing," Ulrich snickered.

**I wanna be great like Elvis without the tassels  
Hire eight body guards that love to beat up assholes  
Sign a couple autographs  
So I can eat my meals for free**

"You really are not very funny," Odd grumbled. He brushed a hand through his hair, fingers working the strands until they stood up and Ulrich laughed.

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it is. I don't know why I hang out with you. Can't be the comic relief."

"What a shame."

"Isn't it?" He rolled his eyes before closing them, leaning back, feeling the music vibrate through him. His glass jumped slightly on the table. "You know, it wouldn't be that bad."

"What wouldn't?" Ulrich asked. He let his eyes drag back to Odd from where he'd been studying the entrance, seeing if the others had arrived yet. Then again, they might be stuck in that line, or had gotten there before them and were dancing...

"Being a star. Getting all dressed up."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't mean like Elvis did, you do know who Elvis is, don't you?"

"Yes," Ulrich growled. "My mother loved him, still does. I'm not completely ignorant."

"Well, one never knows with you rich boys," Odd grinned, wagging his eyebrows at a thoroughly disgruntled Ulrich. "Anyway, I wouldn't be like him. No tassels, way to gaudy."

"Of course."

"It'd have to be better, much cooler. I mean, could you see me in...in tassels?" he asked, choking a little. The waitress was back and Ulrich glared as she set another glass on the table. Didn't they have a limit here? Probably not he reasoned, watching his friend carefully. He didn't seem to notice the glass...yet. "No glittery suits with capes, though capes are very sexy," Odd continued, oblivious.

"Uh-huh."

"They are! Doesn't matter though. Once I'm famous," he waved a hand drunkenly and Ulrich reached over quickly, moving the empty and full glasses away from the wavering hand. The last thing they needed was broken glass. Odd would probably step on it. "Once everyone knows me, I'm gonna..." he swayed dangerously.

"Odd, maybe you should take a break. When was the last time you ate something?"

"Long, I dunno, time ago. Why? Doesn't matter. All I have to do is sign a few autographs. Get my meals for free. Cause those autographs will cost a ton."

"Right, when your famous."

"Right."

**  
(I'll have the quesadilla, uh huh)**

"Of course, then you'd be on drugs, right? This way you can eat as much as you want without having to throw it all up?" Ulrich snapped. Odd glanced at him curiously and he took a deep breath, stilling his nerves. He was used to Odd doing this, acting stupid acting...He wasn't acting though. He was in pain.

"Right," Odd mumbled, brain catching up with the conversation. "Cause the drugs would keep me thin." A faint, fuzzy smile as he swayed again. "Puking isn't fun." Ulrich glanced at him, wondering if he was mumbling to himself, to Ulrich, or foreshadowing things to come. And he just _knew_ who'd be staying up all night and catering to him all day.

"Right, not fun," Ulrich muttered.

**  
I'm gonna dress my ass  
With the latest fashion  
Get a front door key to the Playboy mansion  
Gonna date a centerfold that loves to  
Blow my money for me**

"Food ain't important though," Odd continued. He stood, grinning, and almost fell, reaching out he caught himself on the table as Ulrich started to rise, his hand brushing lightly against the full glass of amber liquid. Ulrich wasn't even sure what it was anymore.

"Hm...interesting. Where'd...?" He didn't finish his musings, only picked up the glass and downed the liquid in one swallow. Ulrich mentally tallied it.

"Twenty-one," he muttered.

"What?" Odd asked, swaying.

"Nothing, sit down." He forced the blonde down, glaring daggers when the waitress approached. She got the message and hurried away with a furtive look. "Why isn't food important?"

"Huh? Oh, cause who needs food? No, the real thing is the outfits."

"We went over this, no tassels and no capes, no matter how appealing they are."

"Appealing?"

"The capes, not the tassels. That's what you said, remember?"

"Oh, right." He nodded his head, whether it was to Ulrich's comment or the music, neither could really tell. Either way he was horribly off tempo. "No, though. Modern fashions."

"Right, tassels and capes are late fifties, we established that."

"No!" Odd groaned, waving his hand, trying to hit the table and missing. "Not costumes, clothes. I can shop in Paris and London, all the best...clothes. Best fashions," he mumbled.

"Right. Of course. How silly of me."

"This way I can be...respectable."

"As you vomit from to much alcohol? Right, good plan Odd."

"To loud..." the blonde groaned, resting his head on the cool table top. He wondered, somewhere in the back recesses of his mind if he should wonder about its stickiness. And the lack of a fulfilling and refilling drink. Yes, he should wonder about the lack of drink. "You think they'd give me a key?"

"A key? To what?" Ulrich asked. He looked at his friend, not for the first time wondering if his brain was addled, though the alcohol in his system could probably set a whole house on fire.

"The Rabbitboy Mansion Play," Odd replied, quite senselessly.

"The what?"

"The place where, where," he yawned and swayed, forehead pressed firmly to the sticky table. "Where drink my?"

"You aren't making any sense."

"Yes I am. The place where the Rabbits live and steal my drinks..."

"I think it's time to go Odd. And you mean Bunnies. Playboy Bunnies, remember?"

"Tha's wha' I said," Odd replied stubbornly. "We can' leave yet. The others..."

"Called. Car trouble. Lets go."

"The centerfolds are always hot."

"They're supposed to be."

"I bet they like people with money."

"You're drunk."

**(So how you gonna do it?)**

"Nuh-uh." He struggled briefly before allowing Ulrich to pull him to his feet. "I'm gonna do it Ulrich. I swear I will."

"Uh-huh. You keep saying that."

"Cause I mean it, duh." He hiccuped, it would have been funny if it didn't throw him off balance so that he almost fell. The waitress approached them, bill in hand, eyes narrowed and Ulrich sighed.

"How much?" He cursed, throwing the money on the table and dragged Odd along behind him. The blonde was still talking incoherently and he hoped vainly that the cold air outside would bring him back to his senses, at least temporarily.

"I mean it Ulrich. You'll see."

"I know, I know. You told me."

**  
I'm gonna trade this life for fortune and fame  
I'd even cut my hair and change my name**

"Whatever it takes," he hiccuped again, swaying and almost falling down the stairs leading to the dance pit. Ulrich cursed, hauling him to his feet and dragging him out the door. The bouncer shook his head.

"Always gets that way, doesn't he?"

"Heh." He hauled the blonde along, out into the cold air and was sorely tempted to bury him in snow but who knew if he could last in there.

"Anything."

"What?"

"Anything it takes. You think I'd look strange black hair with?"

"With black hair? Yes. Your too pale."

"Should I tan?"

"Come on," he groaned.

**  
'Cause we all just wanna be big rockstars  
And live in hilltop houses driving fifteen cars  
The girls come easy and the drugs come cheap  
We'll all stay skinny 'cause we just won't eat**

"She left me, ya know?"

"I know Odd. I was there, remember?"

They were nearing the apartment they all shared and still Odd wasn't really sobering up any. He smiled gratefully as the doorman opened the door for them, shaking his head when he saw Odd, and pulled him into an elevator.

"She said I wasn' good enuf," Odd continued, slumping against the metal walls.

"She was wrong."

"She...I'm to fat," he groaned, seeing his reflection in the tarnished silver.

"You are not, you weigh less than me I'm sure."

"Tha's cause yer all muscle. I'm all fat," Odd mumbled, poking at himself.

"I'm sure. You are not so stop acting it."

"Yer a good 'riend U'rich."

"You are shit-ass drunk, do you realize that?" Ulrich demanded, dragging him out of the elevator and down the hall to their apartment.

"I am not. Quit sayin' tha'," he grumbled. He stumbled in, bashed against the coffee table, tripped on the playstation he hadn't put away before they'd left and fell over the couch. Ulrich really couldn't help the smile, grin, that stole across his face.

"Then what do you call what you are?"

"Morose," Odd grumbled. He laid there, half on and half over the couch, feet kicking idly at the ceiling and Ulrich sighed, going over to pull him down into a somewhat normal position. "God I 'eed some 'rugs."

"No, you don't," Ulrich intoned, glaring at him.

"Girls 'ike 'em."

"The stupid ones. I'll get you some aspirin, your going to need it."

**  
And we'll hang out in the coolest bars  
In the VIP with the movie stars  
Every good gold digger's  
Gonna wind up there  
Every Playboy bunny  
****With her bleach blond hair**

"She did 'rugs," he garbled when Ulrich returned with the pills and some water. "'Ots of 'em."

"I told you she was trouble."

"'he wasna. Best thing e'er happen ta me," he groaned.

"Right, of course. The _druggie_ was the best thing to ever happen to you." He rolled his eyes, fetching a cold washcloth and readying a pot of coffee, turning it on for later. He threw a bowl at Odd's limp form and it bounced onto his chest. "If you feel sick, puke in that."

"Ew..."

"Rather it be on yourself? You get sick, you clean it up."

"She wasna like the others."

"Odd, can't we drop it?"

"No...she was ta one ta enco...encoor...tell me to be a rockstar. She thought I had the uh...pot...pot..."

"Potential."

"'ight!" He groaned, pressing the washcloth to his forehead. "She didna ha' the blonde 'air though. She was dark," he mumbled, nodding, then wincing, finally groaning and settling back in the overstuffed sofa.

"She was trouble."

"I loved her."

"You'll forget about her."

"Wha' do ya think I'm tryin' ta do?"

**And we'll hide out in the private rooms  
With the latest dictionary and today's who's who  
They'll get you anything with that evil smile  
Everybody's got a drug dealer on speed dial**

"Odd..." He didn't know what to say so he sank down in the equally overstuffed chair across from him, watching him groan and whimper, trying to find a comfortable spot before jerking upright with a gasp and leaning over, stomach heaving a good portion of its contents into the bowl. He noticed with grim acknowledgment that there wasn't any food mixed with the liquid.

"Ew..." Odd grumbled again. "Ulrich..."

He sighed, standing and taking the bowl, ignoring the contents, cleaning it and hoping Odd wouldn't succumb to more vomiting while the bowl was temporarily out of commission. He returned to the living room and saw Odd dabbing at his face with the washcloth.

"Puking is so gross," he moaned. He sighed, stretching languidly if a bit stiffly. "I never told ya."

"Told me what?"

"How I was gonna make my 'ongs."

"And how are you going to make your songs?"

"I'll make it 'bout stars and people," he said with a wincing nod. "An...an' also wit' a dicti...dic...a word book," he said with an accomplished smile.

"Wonderful."

"Hm...you think I'd make a good junkie?"

"One of the best."

"All stars are. Junkies that is." He ignored the spinning stars circling his head. First this way, then that way. And since when did Ulrich have a twin, or was it clone? He wished they'd quit multiplying.

"I'm sure they are. Go to sleep."

**  
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar**

"Mm...not sleepy. Couch is 'umpy."

"Lumpy?"

"Mm-hm." Odd jerked, feeling himself hauled to his feet. "Wha'...?" He glanced around hazily as Ulrich towed him down the hall and deposited him in his own room. The purple walls shimmered from behind rock posters and he collapsed onto the purple bed, eyes already half closed. "Feed...fish?"

"Fine."

He heard the lid of the tank open and the soft_ glub, glub _as the fish quickly got into position, no doubt trying to attack the flakes falling from above. Ah! A gift from above! He wondered what it was like to be a fish.

"I'll be one soon."

"I know."

**  
I'm gonna sing those songs  
****That offend the censors  
Gonna pop my pills from a pez dispenser  
I'll get washed-up singers writing all my songs  
****Lip sync em every night so I don't get 'em wrong**

"Hey Ulrich?" Odd asked, eyes at half-mast, drooping further and further, a yawn stretching his face, distorting it briefly.

"Yes?" Ulrich asked, turning from the fish tank to his friend.

"You really think I'm gonna make it?"

"Yeah, I really think you will." He smiled faintly and sat down on the edge of Odd's bed. "Your gonna be anti-everything. Mothers will curse your name and authorities will glare at you and write nasty, threatening letters." He paused, yawning himself but Odd simply smiled, eyelids dropping so that they were completely shut.

"I see you writing very meaningful lyrics, despite your seeming carelessness of the world. Fans will be swarming you, wanting autographs. An official Odd Fan club will start up," he couldn't help but smile.

"Then, when I get real famous, I can have other singers write my songs. I can sing their songs instead," he mumbled.

"That's right."

"And I'll eat pez."

"Pez?"

"Those little candies, that come in the tubes," he mumbled, voice drifting.

"Right, you'll eat pez," he replied. "Sleep well, you'll regret tonight tomorrow," he mumbled, standing.

"I don't regret nothing," Odd mumbled back. Ulrich smiled and didn't bother to correct him because maybe Odd meant it to be that way.

**  
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar  
Hey hey I wanna be a rockstar**

Odd mumbled something under his breath, turning over and Ulrich looked at him carefully, standing in the doorway. She had hurt him, he knew that, everyone knew that. He hadn't been the same since, turning to alcohol and...other unsavory things. Some of them he didn't even want to know about. Most he didn't want to know about.

She had given him something though, he decided as he watched the blonde sleep soundly, snoring loudly in his intoxicated state. Then again, he always snored so there really wasn't any way to tell them apart. He smirked a little, glancing around the room. Yes, though she had been trouble, though she had gotten him addicted to a number of unsavory things, he knew that Odd still thought highly of her, still believed what she had told him. And he probably would be a star, maybe not rock, maybe techno instead. As long as it wasn't Break, Break, Break Dance he figured the world could love Odd.

"Yeah, you'll be a star," he told the sleeping blonde. "You just better not do half the things you told me tonight," he added firmly. He could've sworn he saw a smile flicker across his friend's face but it had to be a trick of the light. Then again. It was Odd.**  
**


End file.
